All I Really Want
by Rae Kelly
Summary: AU. Christmas one-shot. Four-year-old Tom Marvolo Riddle doesn't believe in Santa. But has agreed to believe if Santa brings him the one thing that he really wants for Christmas: his father.


**AN: Just a little Christmas one-shot that hasn't left me alone for months. I finally gave in and decided to write it.**

**This is very AU. It is a prequel of sorts to the story that I am co-writing with Snapegirlkmf called "The Apothecary Knows Best". **

**All I Really Want…**

Noelle walked across the play room at the orphanage to the low table where young Tom Riddle was playing by himself. The boy had been born here at the orphanage nearly five years before, his mother dying a few minutes later...staying alive only long enough to name her son. Noelle had only been working at the orphanage for a short time when Merope Gaunt had come to them that cold winter day. She had been the one that had taken the newborn Tom from his dead mother's arms and he had a special place in her heart.

Noelle would have adopted him herself, but she lived in a one room flat and the paltry sum she made at the orphanage barely covered her bills, only allowing her to set aside a few pence a month for those months when her meager salary at the orphanage couldn't pay her rent. So she had to content herself with taking as much care of him as she could here at the orphanage.

Tom was a bright, inquisitive child, who would be five in just a few weeks. Sometimes Tom was too smart for his own good.

Noelle sat down beside him. "Hello, Tom," she said, smiling at the boy.

"Hello Miss Noelle," the boy replied. He was flipping through one of the picture books that someone had brought the week before.

She leaned over his small shoulder. "Would you like me to read to you about Santa Claus?"

The boy flipped the book closed. "He ain't real."

"You don't believe in him?" She asked him.

"Nope."

"Why not, Tom?"

The little boy sighed deeply. "If he was real, then why don't he bring me a family?"

"Maybe he just hasn't found you the right family," she told him.

He just shook his head. "He ain't real, Miss Noelle."

"How about we write him a letter anyway, alright? You're the only one who hasn't written a letter to Santa yet and the Matron won't send them until she has letters from everyone."

He sighed. "Oh alright."

Smiling, Noelle pulled over some paper and a pencil. "Tell me what you want to say and I'll write it for you."

_'Sir,_

I don't believe in you, but Miss Noelle says that you are real and I need to write you a letter.

My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle and I will be five soon. I never had a family and I really want one.

Miss Noelle said that my mum died when I was born, but she don't know nothing about my dad. Just that I got his name.

If you will bring my dad to come get me then I'll believe that you are real like Miss Noelle said.

Tom'

Noelle sighed as she finished penning the letter for the boy. "I'll make sure that Matron gets this, Tom."

--

Noelle had made a copy of the letter before giving it to Matron and that night, in the comfort of her little flat, she pulled out the letter and read through it again, her heart breaking for little Tom. She went to her closet and pulled out a tattered shoebox. In it were the meager possessions that Merope had had on her when she died.

The Matron was known for taking the things sometimes left with children and babies and selling them, so Noelle had taken it upon herself to save Merope's belongings…either for Tom when he got older or for his father, should the man ever come looking for him. It wasn't that the Matron was tight-fisted with the orphanage's money. No…in actuality, the orphanage received very little money, so the Matron was forced to find ways to make money to pay their bills.

She placed the box on her small, worn table and opened it. Inside was a heavy, old locket that Merope had been wearing that night. Merope had told her that it had been in her father's family for many generations. There had also been a letter in her pocket written to one Tom Riddle. Her Tom's father. The letter was still sealed and she had never mailed it to the man.

A few years before when she had thought about adopting Tom, she had gone to the man's home and watched from a distance. The Riddle family was a wealthy family that kept mostly to themselves as no one in the town where the lived seemed to have much, if any, money. Noelle had done a financial check on the family before leaving London.

Surely if the man had wanted his son he would have come for him, she had thought to herself. It wasn't that he couldn't afford a child. No, he could have easily afforded ten children and still not put a strain on his finances.

Part of her wanted to keep Tom all to herself, but she knew that what Tom wanted was a family. And not just any family. He wanted his father to come and claim him.

Sighing deeply, she pulled out some paper and began to pen a letter of her own.

--

It was two days before Christmas when Noelle finally received a reply from Mr. Tom Riddle, inviting her out to his manor. As the next day was her regular day off, she gathered up all the money she had and was just barely able to purchase round trip train tickets. Dressing in her warmest clothes, she boarded the train for the day-long trip.

It was growing dark when she finally made her way to the front door and knocked. The door was answered by a young man only a couple years older than her own twenty-three years. "Miss Natale?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Yes sir," she replied, her teeth chattering slightly in the cold.

"Please come in." He led her into the house and after closing the door, took her coat and draped it over a chair in the large entrance. "We've already released the servants to go home to their families," he explained.

"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Mr. Riddle," she told him.

He smiled. "Call me Tom, please. Mr. Riddle is my father."

"Tom."

"Come this way. We've got a fire going in the drawing room."

She followed him into a large room, beautifully and expertly decorated for Christmas. The large tree in the corner nearly touched the high ceiling and was lit with candles. Several gaily wrapped presents rested on the floor beneath the branches. Holly and evergreens were scattered around the room, hung in place by bright red bows.

He gestured her to a chair and took a seat on the sofa next to the chair. "Now…your letter mentioned a child that you believe to be mine. I have no children, Miss Natale."

"Do you know a Merope Gaunt?" she asked him. It was obvious just from looking at him that he was the father of her little Tom. The boy didn't resemble his mother at all.

Tom fell silent, lost in thought. It had taken him a long time to get over Merope's betrayal and to come to terms with all that she had told him the night he had walked out on her in London and returned to his father's home. But this woman's simply question brought it all back to him. "We were married once," he told her. "But I haven't seen her in over five years."

"She has a son. A son that she called Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Pardon me, Miss Natale…"

"Noelle."

"Pardon me, Noelle, but just because she gave the child my name doesn't mean that the child belongs to me."

"He'll be five on December thirty-first."

He closed his eyes and he quickly counted back. Merope had been pregnant when he walked out, but hadn't ever told him about the baby. "I…I didn't know."

"She didn't tell you?"

"No. We…we quarreled and I left. I never saw her again. Didn't want to see her again."

"Would you have stayed if she had told you?"

"I…I can't say for sure. She had betrayed me and it was…it was more than I could handle at the time."

She sighed deeply, before looking over at the man. "No matter what she did to you, Mr. Riddle. That boy is innocent. He did nothing and you shouldn't punish him for what she did." She stood and pulled the two letters from the pocket of her skirt. She dropped them on his lap. "I'll show myself out," she said, heading back toward the front door.

--

By the time that his parents had returned from the Christmas Eve church service, Tom had read both letters. Merope's letter was tucked in his pocket, but his son's letter was in his hand. He had read it at least a dozen times in the half hour since Noelle had left.

"Where is your friend, dear?" his mother asked as she came into the drawing room.

"She…she's gone already," he replied.

Mary Riddle came and sat beside her son. "What's wrong?"

He looked up at his parents. "Mother. Father. I…I've got something I need to tell you."

Thomas sat in the chair that Noelle had vacated. "Tell us, son."

Tom took a deep breath before explaining. "This is going to be hard to get out, so just let me tell you before you say anything." When both nodded he continued. "Merope was a…a witch. She came from a long line of them. Her father and brother were…not witches, but wizards.

"Merope…she used a spell or a potion or something that made me fall in love with her. That's why we ran off and were married. I really did think that I loved her. But then for some reason she decided to stop whatever it was. The woman who came earlier had a letter that Merope wrote before she died. She said that she just didn't want to hold me against my will anymore. Either I had truly come to love her in spite of the…enchantment…or I never would."

Tom glanced down at the letter in his hand before looking at them again. "Merope died bringing our son into the world. She named him after me. He…he's in an orphanage in London. The woman who came tonight wasn't a friend. She works at the orphanage where he is and came to find me…"

His father, Thomas, took the letter from his son and read it before looking at his son. "We'll deal with the rest of it later, but it looks like we're going to London tonight."

"Are you sure, Father?" he asked.

"He's your son, Tom. Of course I'm sure. Now grab your coat."

--

After sending the children to bed on Christmas Eve the orphanage workers always went to the playroom to bring in the tree and decorate the room to surprise the children in the morning. The letters to Santa that Matron gathered were given to a ladies aid group that provided presents for the children every Christmas.

The next morning, young Tom came down the stairs with the other children. However, instead of crowding around the tree with the others, he went over to his favorite little table in the corner. He knew that if Santa was even real, his present was too big to go under the tree. Sighing deeply, the boy sat down in one of the chairs, facing away from the tree. He rested his elbows on the table and put his chin in his hands.

Because he was facing away from the door, he didn't see Noelle lead a young man and an older couple into the room. She pointed out the little boy alone across the room. "That's him," she told the Riddle family. "Are you really going to take him home?" she asked.

"We are," Tom replied.

She smiled. "Then I'll go pack his things." She turned to leave the room, but stopped at the door to watch.

Mary put her hand on her son's arm. "He looks just like you did at that age."

He covered her hand with his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. After staring at his son for another moment, he slowly made his way across the room, stopping behind the boy. "Can I join you?" he asked.

Young Tom nodded, not even looking away from the window he had been staring out.

Tom sat down beside him. "Why aren't you over at the tree with the other children?"

"'Cause I don't have nothing there," the boy answered.

"No presents?"

The little boy shook his head. "Santa isn't real."

"He's not huh?"

"Nope."

"Why do you think that?"

The boy sighed. "I wrote him a letter and he didn't bring me what I wanted."

Tom pulled the letter from his pocket and put it on the table in front of them. "Is this the letter that you wrote?"

Young Tom knew his letters and had learned a few words and his name. He looked at the letter the man put on the table and nodded. "That's it."

"My name is Tom too," he told the boy, who still hadn't looked at him.

"I'm named for my dad."

"Me too."

"Did he leave you too?"

"No. We live in a big house in Little Hangleton. Mother and Father are here with me today."

"Why aren't you at home opening presents?"

"Because we came to deliver one."

The boy glanced over his shoulder at the older couple still standing across the room. "Deliver it to who?" he asked.

"Tom Riddle."

"That's me!"

"And me," Tom told the boy, turning their chairs to face each other. "Your mother didn't tell me about you. If I had known I wouldn't have left you here for so long. You see, I always wanted a little boy."

"You did?"

Tom nodded. "I did."

"Are you going to take me home with you?"

"I sure am," he told the boy.

"Oh, thank you, sir!"

"You're welcome…son." The older couple came over. "Tom…these are your grandparents."

"What…what do I call you?"

"Whatever you would like, dear," Mary told him, pulling him into a hug.

The little boy hesitated a moment before wrapping his arms around her neck. He noticed Noelle standing nearby with a satchel. "I guess he is real, huh Miss Noelle?"

"I told you he was," she replied, kneeling in front of the boy that had a special place in her heart. "I've packed your things for you."

He turned and hugged the orphanage worker. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, sweetheart."

"I'm sure Miss Noelle will come visit us some time," Thomas said.

"Oh thank you sir!" the boy replied.

--

It was well after dark that night when the Rolls Royce, a recent purchase of the Riddle family, pulled to a stop in front of Riddle Manor. Thomas and Mary exited the automobile first, followed by their son who reached back in to lift out his tired son. As Tom carried his son inside, the boy wrapped his arms around his father's neck and rested his head on the man's shoulder.

They took the boy to the old nursery, which they had left word with the servants that it was to be prepared for young Tom. (After a bit of confusion on the trip from London, it had been decided to call the boy Tommy.) A few of his father's old toys had been pulled out and cleaned up for his use until they could buy him some of his own.

"This was the bestest Christmas ever," Tommy said, rubbing his little eyes as his father set him on the bed and helped him change into his nightshirt.

"I think so too," Tom replied, slipping the nightshirt over his son's head.

As soon as he was dressed again, Tommy wrapped his arms around his father's neck again. "Thank you for coming to get me."

"You are most welcome," Tom said, pressing a kiss to the top of his son's dark head. He pulled back the blanket and tucked his son into bed for the first time.

"G'night Daddy," the boy whispered, asleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillow.

"Good night, son," he replied. "Welcome home."


End file.
